


Daddy's Little Girl

by Brate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-07
Updated: 2011-06-07
Packaged: 2017-10-20 05:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brate/pseuds/Brate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A far from ordinary haunting finds Sam and Dean in the thick of things, as usual, and Dean forced to rely on an unlikely skill to survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daddy's Little Girl

"Dean!" Sam shouted. His flashlight had suddenly flickered out and he could see nothing in the darkness of the basement. Taking a deep breath to quiet his speeding heart, he stood still, listening for a response.

There was none.

Creeping forward, arms out to deflect anything, Sam made his way back to the stairs and up into the kitchen. His flashlight came back on and he huffed a disgusted sigh. He stalked through the house, alert for any noise, any movement. Light shone through the dirty windows, partially illuminating the rooms. Sam yelled for Dean again, but received the same answer.

He took the stairs to the second floor three at a time and began a quick search down the hall.

As Sam rounded the corner to the third bedroom, his eyes widened. "Dean!" Dean was lying just inside the room, his head in a small puddle of red.

Sam rushed into the room, sliding down to his knees at his brother's side. Dean was breathing, but didn't respond to Sam's attempts to wake him. Anxious fingers probed, but Sam found no other wounds. Time for a strategic retreat.

Sam relegated their weapons to their duffel. Throwing it over his shoulder, he picked Dean up and settled him over his other shoulder in a fireman's carry. Sam held onto him with one hand while maintaining his balance with the other. Hand clenching the banister, he clumsily maneuvered down the staircase.

On the ground floor, Sam readjusted his load before making for the front door and freedom.

He didn't make it.

~*~*~*~

Dean awoke slowly, cursing booze and the lumpy mattress. He came fully awake with a start when he realized the headache wasn't a hangover and the mattress was his little brother.

He pushed up, careful to keep his weight off Sam, and sat back on his heels. He gently turned Sam over. Dean saw no injuries, but that didn't mean much. He shook Sam to wake him but, disappointingly, there was no reaction. One hand resting protectively on Sam's shoulder, Dean looked around, searching for an adversary. The house was still and silent.

Dean reached up to scratch his head and encountered a sticky spot. That would explain the headache. He racked his memory. They'd come into the house and coasted through the ground floor, then separated. Sam went down while he went up. The next thing Dean knew, he was waking up down here.

It hadn't even been a "real job" in Dean's estimation, which meant he hadn't taken it seriously, much to Sam's annoyance. Now they both might pay for Dean's attitude. A groan from Sam interrupted his self-castigation.

Dean lightly slapped his brother's cheek, looking for a sign of life. When Sam slapped back, he knew he had one.

"Dude, watch those monkey arms of yours."

Sam sat up, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. "Then stop hitting me, man."

"I was just trying to see if the pretty princess was awake yet."

"Funny."

"What happened?" Dean asked, leaning over Sam and surreptitiously checking his eyes.

"My light went out downstairs and you didn't answer when I called, so I tracked you down. I found you upstairs out-of-it."

Dean shook his head. "I don't remember what happened. Seems like it's time to get the hell outta here and regroup."

Sam grimaced. "I don't think we can. I tried to get you out and I was…stopped."

"Stopped?" Dean raised a brow. "Stopped how?"

"Um…" Sam shrugged. "Psychically."

It took everything Dean had not to outwardly react to that. Instead, he forced an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, man, do I need to get you a freakin' tinfoil hat?"

"Bite me," Sam returned easily. "How're you?"

"Gorgeous as always." At Sam's eye-roll, Dean added, "I'll be fine as soon as I get myself a beer or two…or five." He gave Sam a hand up, slapping his brother on the back. "What's the plan?"

"I think we need to figure this out from the inside."

~*~*~*~

Sam walked away from the door and farther into the house. He stopped next to the staircase and let his eyes roam, taking in everything. He was missing something, but he wasn't sure what. Sam hated that.

"So, what are you looking for?" Dean asked after a few minutes. He rooted around in the weapons bag, getting their guns out.

Breaking out of his reverie, Sam turned to his brother. "You didn't listen to me at all when I told you about this place," he accused.

Dean blinked. "Sure I did. It's…haunted."

"Thanks for the insight," Sam drawled. Looking closer, he noticed Dean's pinched expression. "Why don't you sit down for a minute?"

"I'm fine," Dean said.

"You aren't. And I don't want to have to try and carry you out again."

"I didn't ask you the first time," Dean growled.

"You didn't have to!" Sam shot back. "Now sit your ass down before I knock you down."

Dean sat on the bottom step, muttering about "bossy little brothers" and "too big for his britches."

Sam swallowed a snort. He started to pace, never venturing far from his brother. "I figured this was a simple haunting, but I think there's more to it."

"Ya think?" Dean asked.

Sam ignored him. "The research reported that in 1969, the recently widowed Alex Craig murdered his daughter, Emma, before killing himself."

"But…?"

"I'm starting to wonder if they got it backwards."

"So maybe it was 'poor little Emma' who did the deed?" Dean paused. "I told you kids were evil."

Sam stopped pacing and turned to face Dean. "I thought you liked kids," he said.

"I like kids who aren't evil."

"But you just said all kids are evil."

"Yep."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Anyway, there must be some reason we're being kept here."

"Hope she's not looking for a boy-toy."

"Dean, she was nine years old when she died."

"Your point?" Dean laughed to himself.

"You didn't run into any trouble until you went upstairs, right?" Sam asked.

"Nope."

"And there was nothing downstairs," he mused.

"So I take it we're going up?"

"I think we need to."

"All right." Dean stood. He hiked the bag over one shoulder, shook off his slight dizziness, and lifted his shotgun. "I'm already sick of this place."

Sam led the way upstairs. "I found you in that room," he said, pointing to the end of the hall.

"I don't remember much of anything," Dean admitted. "Let's check it out."

Sam stopped at the doorframe and shone his flashlight inside. The yellow walls had dulled, the once-bright flowers bleached with age. As with the rest of the house, there was no furniture, but the light reflected off a batch of stickers decorating the closet door.

Cautiously, Sam moved forward, stepping into the room and to the left, making room for Dean to follow.

A second later, a childish voice intoned, "Not him."

In the middle of the room, a little girl in a faded pink jumpsuit appeared. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was staring daggers at Dean. "I don't want him here."

"Emma?" Sam ventured.

"I don't want him in my room," the young girl's ghost said, continuing to glare at Dean.

"Why not?"

"I don't like him," she answered. "He's bad."

Sam gave an over-the-shoulder shrug of _I don't know_ at Dean. "What about me?"

Emma smiled at Sam. "You're like me. You see things, too."

Sam couldn't stop his mind from imagining the worst. Was she connected to the Yellow-Eyed Demon? To him? "What kind of things did you see?" he rasped.

"A lot of things. But then I saw my mom die. I tried to warn her and Daddy, but they didn't believe me."

Sam's stomach twisted. "How did your mom die?"

"She was in a car accident."

His relief quickly turned to guilt. The how didn't matter; they had both lost their mothers too early.

"I begged her not to go," Emma said, "but she thought I was being silly. When the police came to tell us, my daddy looked at me funny. That's when I knew."

"Knew what?"

"Knew he thought I was bad."

Dean flinched, and Sam wondered if he was thinking about what he'd said downstairs.

Emma smile sympathetically. "Your brother thinks you're bad, too. He's s'posed to kill you."

Sam shook his head. "That's not how it is. He's just going to make sure I don't hurt anyone."

"That's what he wants you to think. He'll kill you like my daddy killed me." She sighed and looked away. "I almost got away," she said wistfully.

"What happened?" Sam asked softly.

Emma twisted her hair between her fingers. "My daddy had a knife and I knew what he was going to do. When he came into my room, I hit him over the head with my bear lamp. I tried to run, but he grabbed my ankle and I fell over the railing. I heard my daddy crying until I died. When I woke up, I knew what I had to do." Bright eyes focused on Sam. "I'm here to protect those like me."

Sam spread his arms out, half-blocking his brother. "If you want to protect me, why did you stop me from leaving?"

"You were taking him." She nodded at Dean. "I have to protect you from him."

"No," Sam said, " _he_ protects me."

She shook her head sadly, too world-weary for the age she appeared. "You can leave, Sam. As soon as I take care of Dean."

Emma moved toward Dean.

 _Not gonna happen._ Sam stepped between them and raised his shotgun. "I won't let you hurt him."

Emma pursed her lips in a frown, narrowing her eyes. She shook her head and vanished.

Sam looked around, exchanging a silent question with his brother, when she reappeared. "Dean!"

She shoved Dean backward. His arms flailed for balance for a long moment, before succumbing to gravity and falling over the wooden railing.

Dean managed to hook a baluster with one hand and halt his fall, kicking at the wall in his struggle to maintain his precarious position.

Sam raced to the railing and leaned over. He grabbed Dean's sleeve and started to pull him up.

Emma's voice suddenly came from next to him. "Now, Sam, this is for your own good."

Sam was jerked backward and slammed into a wall. Blinding white heat shot through his skull, and his hands clenched his hair. As his head exploded in pain, he fought the approaching darkness.

And lost.

~*~*~*~

"Sam?" Dean yelled. His brother had disappeared with an aborted cry and a loud thump. "Sam?!" There was no reply from his brother.

This little bitch was really beginning to piss him off.

Dean tightened his grip, muscles pulling in his shoulders and arms—he was definitely going to feel that in the morning. He dug in with his feet, scrambling up the wall. Dean climbed over the railing and dropped onto the landing. When his feet hit the wooden floor, Emma turned and smiled. Behind her, Dean could see Sam slumped over against the far wall, down for the count.

Glad her focus was off Sam, Dean shuffled back, trying to get her farther away from his unconscious brother. Even though she'd sworn to protect Sam, she'd already knocked him out downstairs and tossed him against a wall up here. Dean didn't trust her "protection."

He wished he hadn't dropped his shotgun when she'd thrown him over the railing. But at the time, saving himself had kind of been his priority.

She flowed toward him.

Dean held up a hand, surprised when she stopped. She knew she had the advantage, so she was probably humoring him. "You don't want to do this, Emma."

"Of course I do, Dean. It's what I'm supposed to do."

"No, you were meant to grow up like a normal little girl, but your dad took that away."

Her face darkened at the mention of her father. "He was bad, just like you."

"No, not like me." Dean shook his head and backed up another step. "I'd do anything for Sam."

Emma's cruel smile was at odds with her innocent face. "You have a secret," she sing-songed.

Dean swallowed hard. "Everyone has secrets," he tried to bluff.

"But I know yours."

Dean shook his head. "No, you only know what my father thought I might have to do."

He found himself flying through the air again. A grunt escaped him as he hit the far wall and slumped down. Well, at least this time he didn't leave the second floor.

Dean levered himself up, studying Emma. She stood, hands on her hips, waiting for him to get up. He could really use Sam blowing her little ass away with rock salt about now. _Christ_ , he was going to have to _talk_ to the freaking ghost girl. He sighed. _Oh, all right._ "You…you said you could see things, right?"

Emma eyed him warily. "Yes."

"Then you have to see I could never hurt Sammy. Never."

"But your dad…" she faltered.

"He was wrong, just like yours."

Emma paused, looking between Dean and the unconscious Sam.

Despite himself, Dean felt bad for the kid; she hadn't deserved what had happened to her. "I'm sorry your dad did what he did; it was wrong. He should've trusted you." He struggled to recall what Sam had said about the case. Just because he didn't listen to his brother didn't mean he didn't _listen_. Something was nagging at him, a missing piece of the puzzle.

Suddenly, he realized what was wrong. "You didn't kill your father," he said.

Emma scoffed.

"No, it's true. You said you hit him with a lamp."

She nodded. Her ponytail bounced and her form flashed.

"Did you stab him?"

Mouth curling in disgust, she snapped, "Of course not."

"The newspaper article said he died of blood loss from a knife wound," Dean said. "I think he was sorry for what he'd done. I think he couldn't live with it. He knew he made a mistake and he killed himself." She was frowning, and Dean wondered if he was getting through to her.

"I loved him."

"I know, sweetheart, and he loved you, too. He just made a bad choice. Can you forgive him?"

She looked up, her eyes filled with tears.

 _Ghosts can cry?_ "You don't have to protect anyone anymore," Dean said softly. "Neither of our dads was perfect. They were scared and they reacted badly. It's time for you to forgive yours." He waited, alternating between hoping he was making sense and hoping Sam woke up and blasted her.

Emma stood still, chewing her bottom lip.

Honestly, Dean didn't know what else he could say. It looked like there might be a chance to get out of this in one piece, if he could convince her. "I'm sorry your life got cut short, but we had nothing to do with that. Sam and I have important work to do. We help people."

Her eyes dropped down, scouring the floor. Vanishing again, she popped up next to Sam, her tiny hand petting his hair. "You'll look after him?" she asked without turning.

"Of course I will; I always do," Dean said truthfully.

"Okay." Emma stood and wiped her eyes. Taking a deep breath— _ghosts breathe?_ —she said, "I forgive…I forgive my daddy."

A glow, muted at first, began in her chest, increasing in brightness and expanding until it eclipsed her completely. There was a brilliant flash, then nothing.

Dean sagged in relief for a second before he was scrambling to his brother. Having learned his lesson, this time he shook Sam's shoulder and was rewarded with a groan.

Sam eyes sprang open, and he lurched up with a grimace.

"Whoa, it's all right, man." Dean laid a hand on Sam's chest and gently pushed him back down.

"What happened? Where is she? Are you okay?" Sam's head whipped around as his questions spilled out lightning-fast.

"I saved the day, gone, and yes."

Sam paused, figuring out which answer belonged to which question. "All right." He leaned back against the wall, pushing his hair from his eyes. "So, what happened?"

"Oh, Em and I had a little pow-wow. I managed to convince her the world was better off with me in it."

Eyes wide, Sam asked, "Seriously?

"You don't think it is?" Dean drew back in mock-hurt.

"Don't be an ass. You talked a ghost out of killing you?"

"I know. Pretty cool, huh?"

"Yeah, actually," Sam said. "That _is_ pretty cool." Using the wall as a brace, he stood, wobbling a little, but upright.

Dean stayed close until Sam was steady. "You ready to go?" He leaned over and snatched up weapons bag.

"More than." Sam looked around the house as his brother helped him down the stairs. "You sure this is taken care of?"

"Man, I don't leave jobs unfinished. Trust me, she's gone. And I don't know about you, but I could use a long, hot shower and some painkillers." When they walked out the front door without a problem, Dean let himself relax. It wasn't as though he didn't think Emma was in a better place, or whatever, but it was nice to have it confirmed.

Dean helped Sam into the car, shut the door, and moved around to the driver's side. Checking out his reflection in the rearview mirror, Dean decided they would have to clean up before they went anywhere public. Dried blood did not make a good styling gel.

Turning on the ignition, he flicked his eyes to Sam and smirked. "So, you're getting your ass kicked by little girls now?"

"Shut up. She knocked you out and threw you over a railing." Sam snorted. "So, you actually talked a ghost into crossing over."

"It happened, get over it."

"I'm just thinking, maybe you _should_ be a grief counselor. You've got a knack."

"Not funny."

"Come on, it was a little funny." Sam grinned. "You gonna believe me next time I say a place is haunted?"

Dean barely paused. "Probably not."

"Didn't think so."


End file.
